


a hole inside my chest ('til it fills up)

by katydidmischief (cassiejamie)



Series: The River Brings You Home [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trust Issues, Veteran of Iraq
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-02 06:22:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassiejamie/pseuds/katydidmischief
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Phil wants is to keep Natasha and Clint together and he only knows one home who might be willing to take them on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Before you start reading, please heed the following warnings: there are discussions of past & present child physical abuse (present abuse not done in the Stark-Rogers household), past child sexual abuse, flashbacks and mentions of Steve's service in Iraq including a physical disability. Thank you.
> 
> Written for [this prompt](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/17613.html?thread=40058829#t40058829) at the avengerkink meme.

Phil has no one left to ask.

Well, not no one.

He sighs, staring at the house from his car, fingers clenched around the steering wheel so tightly that they're turning white. His coffee has barely been touched and he's sure that in thirty seconds, Nick Fury, his boss, is going to call to ask how it went.

(Phil honestly doesn't know how he can ask this of them, after everything they'd gone through with Bruce's anger management and Thor's dual citizenship and his little brother that they're _still_ trying to get out of that house. He knows they've said they aren't looking for more kids, though they're happy to help here and there and take on a foster when needed, but this...

Seriously, if he didn't love Clint and Tasha as much as he does—and don't ever let a case worker say they don't play favorites, because that is pure B-U-L-L-S-H-I-T—he won't even be sitting here trying to decide if he's really going through with this.)

He lets go of the wheel and thunks his head back against the seat, watching the house, continuing to think of every scenario he can come up with: asking and rejection, asking and acceptance, asking and acceptance then rejection.

His phone rings.

"Phil Coulson."

"Good afternoon, Social Worker. Wanna tell me why you're hanging out in your car across the street from the house while looking like someone just ran over your dog?" Ah, Tony.

"It's nothing to do with Bruce or Thor."

He can feel the relief that announcement brings. "News on Loki?"

"At a standstill. We should know more soon, hopefully after Mr. Laufey flies in next week," Phil answers, "Is Steve home? I have something I need to talk to you both about."

"Yeah, come in."

It takes a few minutes to gather the files and his coffee cup and Phil steels every bit of his courage as he works, trying to figure out what he'll do if they say no: there is literally no one left whom Phil trusts with these kids, no one he thinks will give them the care and patience that they need after what they've been through.

He swallows against the tightness in his throat, tells himself they're going to say yes, and walks.

It feels like only a second later that Tony's guiding him into the kitchen where Steve is waiting with a fresh mug of coffee and a worried look. He doesn't ask though, doesn't push, just waits for Phil to open the file for them to read.

Phil tells them, "Their names are Natasha and Clinton, siblings, 13 and 10. There was an older brother, Bernard—he was taken to an area hospital with severe head trauma which their mother eventually admitted was done by the father—and his injuries had us remove them from the home. When he died, we proceeded with the courts and eventually parental rights were terminated. We were allowed to then place them into foster care."

Steve looks worried. "I think I know where this is going."

Tony just keeps looking at the pictures of Natasha and Clint, seeing a reflection of himself as a child in their eyes. He very much does not like it: no child should look like that.

"The first two homes, they did well in. They were moved simply because there was concern for their safety once we were notified that Harold had determined their location. The third is where we started to see behavioral issues with Natasha."

"Like?"

"Acting out in school, fugue states, tantrums." Phil braces himself. "Self-injury. We removed them and had her put through psychological testing, but her medication and therapy regimes are difficult to manage when they're being bounced from home to home."

"And Clint?"

Phil resists sighing again and fails. "Of their next thirteen foster homes... four were found to be neglectful, three flat-out abusive."

"That's insane."

"I know. We're still trying to figure out what the hell happened. Several homes have claimed Natasha did some of the abuse or that it was done at school, but Clint... that kid is a horrible liar. He's quiet and he tries very hard to not be seen or heard, but if you ask him very direct questions, you find out what you need to know quickly.

"The other homes... there were never any signs of something untoward, but both of them displayed behaviors that make me wonder about one or two."

Tony sets the pictures down. "And you're here because you've run out of places that will take them?"

He nods. "We'll likely have to split them up, which is a battle we're not ready to have with Natasha, and even then, I don't know how long it would be before one or both started running. She's already tried once, but only made it so far as the bus station before she called me," Phil looks between them and goes on, "I know it's a lot to ask when you've already got the two boys and you're trying to get Loki, but I am running out of options. You're my last hope of keeping them together."

Steve leans into the counter, arms crossed over his chest, and he looks to Tony. "What do you think?"

Tony had been the one to start them on this road, he's the one who'd seen Bruce at one of the group homes when they'd gone looking for a little girl and he'd been the one to suggest taking Thor in when Bruce came home from school telling stories about a new friend who was up for adoption. He's the one who'd been adamant that no kids should ever be raised in a home like he'd lived in, making sure to find a place that was comfortable and open and filled it with things that could easily be replaced. He's the reason that Phil had known to come to them with this.

"I think Bruce and Thor are going to have to learn to share again." Tony shrugs. "They need somewhere stable and we're already taking the boys to Fitz and Simmons every week. We can do it with two more kids."

"All right."

Phil's so relieved he could cry.

He gets the paperwork pushed through in three days, which gives Tony and Steve time to decide if the kids will share a room or not (yes, they will, or Natasha will slip into bed with her brother every night anyway), and gives Phil time to get the kids packed from their current group home.

"Natasha, Clint, this is Steve and this is Tony," Phil introduces when they finally get there on the evening of the third day. Bruce and Thor introduce themselves, looking a little weary of these new kids in their home, but Clint just gently shakes their hands. Natasha won't even look at them; she keeps one hand tightly on the strap of Clint's backpack and the other on her own.

Phil gives Tony a look, pleading with him for as much patience as he can muster: Natasha had spent the last two days without speaking and she seems to be intent on continuing this silent treatment. To what end, Phil can't even guess, but he knows it will be some time yet before she either starts speaking or they figure out what the hell else has happened to the kid.

Seriously, he doesn't discount anything at this point.

Another pleading look and Tony mouths back, 'We'll take good care of them.'

Nodding, he kneels down beside the two children, speaking softly, "Natasha, you have my number. If need to, you use it, okay? Otherwise, I'll be back in a few days to check on you both."

"Bye, Phil," Clint says. Still, Natasha is silent.

Then he's gone, praying the whole way home that he's not going to get a call in the next twenty-four hours.

* * *

It was late when they'd arrived and it had also been therapy day for the two older boys, so Tony had brought Natasha and Clint up to their room and told them, "We'll go pick up some stuff for in here in the morning, okay guys? For tonight, I hope you don't mind the superhero sheets—Thor likes them."

"It's fine," Clint tells him, and gives the tiniest of smiles; though he tries to hide it, Tony sees the way Clint strokes over a bow on one of the pillow cases and he makes a mental note of it. Natasha gives nothing away, just sets her backpack down by the nightstand (within reach, if she needed to protect it, Tony knows) and sits down on the comforter.

Tony hesitates, not quite sure if he should leave them and ends up telling them, "If you get hungry or thirsty, there's a big fridge downstairs and there's snacks in the pantry. Have whatever you'd like, though Steve would probably ask that you don't dig into ice cream or soda this late. Square deal?"

"Thank you." Clint again.

"The bathroom is across the hall in case you need to use it," he goes on, "and we've already let the school know that you guys won't be there tomorrow so sleep as late as you want. We'll have breakfast after you get up."

Still, there's no response from Natasha, but Clint thanks him again as he pulls on a thread-bare tee shirt and a pair of well-worn sleep pants. _We're buying clothing tomorrow too,_ Tony tells himself, and he waits a moment longer before wishing them a good night and crossing to his own bedroom.

"They're asleep?"

Tony shakes his head at his husband, gathering his own pajamas. "Clint might be, but I doubt Natasha's going to do more than doze. I'd put money that she's got her back against the door."

Steve sighs. "Are you sure I shouldn't take a few days off from the university? I'm fine handling Bruce and Thor, but Natasha and Clint just got here—they might need more attention than only you can provide."

"We'll be fine." Tony climbs onto the bed, crawling over Steve and plopping down right into his lap, "Keeping the routine has been the key to everything, so let's keep it going as best we can while we get the two of them settled."

He doesn't mention what they're both thinking: a long time ago, when they'd first had Bruce and Thor together under the same roof, the routine they'd established had been disrupted by Loki's temporary stay. It'd been a week before the court had ruled to have Loki moved in preparation for being shipped off to Greenland where his biological family was waiting. The turmoil of all that had set off Bruce's anger issues and Thor, worried for Loki, had run away. It'd taken months to restore normalcy to the house and still, that fear had been beneath every decision they'd made as a family.

"You're absolutely sure?"

Tony makes a face. "I'm sure. Besides, if I need emergency help, I can always 911 Pepper."

Sighing as he shakes his head in amusement, Steve reminds Tony, "She's not your PA anymore. The whole giving her your company makes her very much _not_ your PA."

"Please. She loves when I 911 her."

"Because she thinks you're injured or dying, Tony. Or do you not remember the pizza incident?"

"Hey, she didn't even hit me that time!"

"Still. Just... call me if you need something. I've already let the administration know what's up, they won't be surprised if I leave my TA in charge of study session for a lecture or two."

"Art class has study periods?"

Steve slaps Tony's arm, shoving him sideways onto the bed and jamming his fingers into the most ticklish spot he knows Tony possesses. "What was that?"

"All right! All right! If I need a second set of hands tomorrow, I'll let you know." Tony smiles, then leans in for a kiss. "But I can still call and annoy Pepper, right?"

Steve may or may not smack Tony in the face with a pillow before he curls up under the blanket, his husband laughing as he turns off the bedside lamp.

Hours later though, even as Steve snuffles into his pillow and lets out a snore here and there, Tony is still very much awake; he's never been able to sleep on the first night new kids are in the house, too worried about whether or not they'd run in the night or harm themselves when no one was looking. It doesn't help that his dreams are plagued with old memories, recollections of a lonely childhood and his terrible relationship with his drunk of a father.

He gives up, as usual, after he's counted the stars outside the window for the third time, and decides to go downstairs to grab a snack before he hits the workshop. He's still got half a dozen ideas to work on, another two brewing at the back of his mind, and with two young children in the house again that will depend on him for attention, patience, and care, well, he figures he'll be going back to the "inventing and designing by cover of night" routine he'd long since stopped doing.

It doesn't bother him, sure in his heart—just as he'd been sure with Bruce and Thor—that some sleepless nights are more than worth it.

Tony yawns as he enters the kitchen, surprised to see the fridge open.

Clint freezes when he realizes he's not alone, butter knife in hand as he balances on a chair pulled up to the counter; there's four slices of bread out with jelly already applied to two. The chocolate hazelnut butter stands unopened.

Clint suddenly trembles before gushing out, "Tashagothungryyousaiditwasokaysorrysorrysorry."

"Hey, it's all right," Tony tells him over and over, keeping his voice level as he flicks on the light, and then crosses closer. He kneels down, makes himself look a little smaller and only once Clint seems to calm a bit does he break the mantra and say, "I told you it was okay to get something if you were hungry and I wasn't lying. You guys are welcome to anything in the house that you want, okay? If you want a sandwich at one in the morning, then you can have a sandwich at one in the morning."

"It's okay?"

"It's okay. Now, did you guys really want a couple of sandwiches or..." Tony stands and drags open the freezer, "pizza? Or," he glances toward the pantry, "we could have pasta?"

"Sandwiches."

"You're sure?"

Clint nods and Tony gets the feeling it's not because he actually wants hazelnut butter and jelly, but because Tasha wants it.

"Okay. Do you want some help finishing?"

The no comes out in a half-shout, Clint's eyes huge.

"All right. I figured you could do it on your own, big guy you are. I'm just going to nuke myself some leftovers, okay?" Tony says and roots around in the fridge for the container Steve had made up for his lunch tomorrow.

(He likes to help, but let's be clear: Tony Stark remains Tony Stark and his husband wouldn't have him any other way.

Though Steve would very much like to not have buy lunch from the University as regularly as he does.)

By the time the microwave is done warming up the meal, Clint has gone, the bread, hazelnut butter, and jelly neatly placed back in the pantry and the knife rinsed off and placed in the drying rack.

Tony hadn't heard a thing.


	2. Chapter 2

Here's some of what Bruce and Thor have determined about their parents in the ten and eight years they've been their kids:

Steve (Pop) is the worrier—if one of them goes out to a movie, even chaperoned, there will be at least one garbled text waiting for them afterwards to make sure they're all right; when Bruce loses a debate, Pop's the one asking if he needs to talk and when it's football season and Thor's playing, he's up in the stands having a quiet freakout that his six-foot-four son is going to get hurt—and he's not all that subtle about it. He's the one who'd pushed for family therapy on top of their own personal sessions, and instituted game night which is really just family bitch time.

He's the one who'd held them together when their Dad had the heartattack that nearly killed him and carried them through the aftermath of losing Loki to a family that he'd begged and pleaded not to be sent to.

Tony (Dad) is a worrier, too, but not like Pop. He lets them make their mistakes and still loves them after, because there are some things, he tells them, that you have to learn yourself. He's the one who had taught them to drive, who still tells them to try whatever they want on the menu even if it's ridiculously expensive, and the one who had pushed for them both to pick a hobby on the opposite end of their usual choices. He's the one who argues politics at the dinner table and tells them both to shut up and wash the dishes when tempers flare too much.

He's the one who'd held Pop right there in the middle of Central Park when a car had backfired and Pop had flashed to Iraq, who'd ignored the stares and taken care of both his husband and sons when Pop just couldn't fight the memories off on his own.

Basically, their fathers are not perfect but they, more than anything, love them with everything they've got, which is why they'd agreed with their parents' choice to bring Natasha and Clint to their house. And they still agree, don't get them wrong, but holy shit...

"Put the knife back on the table," Bruce says as they eat their first group meal days after Clint and Natasha had arrived. Big eyes meet his and he repeats, "Put the knife back on the table."

Natasha is stock still.

Pop looks between the two. "Bruce?"

"She's hiding her knife in her sleeve under the table."

"Tasha," Clint murmurs, having abandoned his meal and now stares at her with a terrified expression, "Just give it back to them. Please," he turns to look at Tony, reeling off, "I swear, she's not stealing. She's just... Tasha..."

Whether it's the looks she's cast from the rest of the table or her little brother's pleading, they, of course, don't know, but the knife slides from her sleeve and she sets it on the table and Tony let's out a breath.

Thor nudges Bruce's shoulder and nods toward the stairs, then asks, "May we be excused?"

"Yes, you may," from one, and, "An hour of homework, please," from the other before Bruce and Thor move, grabbing their plates, silverware, and cups and depositing them on the counter, and racing up to their bedrooms.

Alone with the two adults, Tasha leans in her chair, closing a bit of the distance between herself and a very shaky and scared Clint. Steve pulls all the knives out of her reach, setting them beside his plate and easing his own chair back in order to make her feel less crowded.

"Clint, it's all right. We didn't think Natasha was stealing and anyway, you can't steal what's already yours," Tony tries to soothe, "We're upset because we think Natasha was planning to hurt herself and that's something that we take very seriously."

He continues to tremble.

"Now, listen, okay? Very carefully. Can you do that for us?" Steve asks, waiting until both kids acknowledge the request in some way before saying, "No one is sending you away. No one is going to call Phil tonight and tell him he has to come get you. I know it's going to take time for you guys to see that, but I'm probably going to say this a lot, until you both believe us...

"Natasha, you don't have to speak, I know you're still very unsure of us. But I need to know if you were going to use that knife on yourself."

She's staring at the plate of half-eaten food in front of her, fingers playing with the edge of the ceramic, and when she finally looks away, looks between the two men, and nods, something cold and painful lodges in Steve's gut.

"Okay, sweetheart. I have to go call Dr. Simmons."

That fleeting moment of trust is gone now though and there's no response, she just toys with the edge of the plate for several minutes; Natasha's face is devoid of expression, she gives away nothing, until some thought gets in her head and Tony can see when the anger surfaces.

He doesn't care that the plate goes flying, he doesn't care when she grabs her glass and adds it to the mess: these are things, they are replaceable. But Clint is so close to his sister that Tony has to grab his wrist to drag him back and he pushes the boy into a chair out of her range.

Then Tony does something that makes Natasha hesitate.

He doesn't take the dishes away, as she'd expected: he pushes them closer to her, only keeping hold on the knives.

She stares at him for a second, pure confusion in her eyes.

"I've broken lots of very expensive things when I was angry."

But Tony doesn't know if the acceptance has fizzled her anger or it just distracted her from it, because she doesn't reach for another plate, doesn't reach for any of the glasses, she simply sits back down in her chair and blinks at the mess on the floor beside her.

(Steve doesn't comment on it when he returns. He's seen worse done at the hands of Bruce and Tony, and he's not about to set the kid off again, not when he's got to get Natasha and Clint into the car and to their therapists' office sooner rather than later.

Instead, he says, "All right, guys, Dr. Simmons and Dr. Fitz want us to come see them, so let's get shoes on, okay?" and follows them out of the room, touching Tony on the shoulder as they pass.

Bruce comes down, Thor behind him, after they hear the front door open and close, and ask, "She okay?"

"Physically, yes, but we're going to have to be very patient with her. I think there's something she hasn't told anyone about yet and it's making her depressed which is coming out as anger," Tony says, picking up the larger shards of ceramic and glass and hocking them into the garbage pail, "Are you both all right? No shame in saying if you need something."

"I'm fine, Dad," Bruce answers and he's got the soft smile on his face that reiterates his words.

"Thor?"

The elder boy shrugs just as Steve does when he's conflicted. "She makes me think about Loki."

"I know. I'm sorry we weren't faster, Thor." He drops the dustpan and stands, pulls his boy in for a hug, "Remember, we haven't stopped fighting for him like we never stopped fighting for you."

"I'm worried who he'll be when he gets here though."

"And we will do everything that needs to be done to help him," Tony pulls back, "whatever that entails, okay?"

Thor nods, and he helps to clean up for a while before saying, "I think she's been sleeping in front of their door at night."

"I think so, too." Bruce.

"One of the kids at the orphanage... she did the same thing." Thor looks at Tony, something Tony cherishes after the years he and Steve had spent teaching him that he is equal and loved and can look at someone without being slapped, and he explains, "She was raped at one of the homes. She told one of the girls that sleeping with her back to the door was so she could hear if someone was walking toward the room."

"No jumping to conclusions, Thor, but I understand. Trust me when I say, Pop and I have already talked about it at length with Phil, but until she talks, we can't do anything but keep doing what we're doing."

Bruce's chin juts out for a second, his lips pursing as he thinks, then he speaks. "Maybe Aunt Pepper should come over soon. Natasha might react better to a female presence."

Seriously, his kids are fucking brilliant.

Tony leans over to press a kiss to Bruce's temple, and announces, "You know, Bruce, that's not a bad idea. But maybe in a few days, okay? Let's get her over this hump before we throw Aunt Pepper at her."

The matter settled for now, the boys return their focus to the mess on the floor.)

* * *

Phil just wants some sleep.

Honest to God, just a few hours. He won't even be greedy and ask for a full night, just more than three damn hours and in a bed, not hunched over his desk.

"Should I have a cot moved in here?"

Nick Fury, tall and imposing and yeah, a bit terrifying to those who don't know him, is standing in the doorway to Phil's office, leaning against the jamb. He's clearly ready for the day—he's freshly washed and beard neatly shaved, his ridiculous winter coat even looks to have recently been cleaned—while Phil doesn't remember the last time he was in his own house.

"I'd use it... until I buried it under paperwork. Which is what I've been doing all night."

"Clearly," Nick answers, then adds, "I've seen my inbox. You do realize I'm seriously considering making you take paid leave, right?"

Phil snorts. "Get me a ticket to Tahiti and a poolboy and I'll take that leave happily. Otherwise, I've got home visits with Clint and Natasha, Skye, Grant, and Peter, a meeting with Laufey and Stark's lawyers, and two court appearances to make. All next week."

"I can shift some of that to Maria and you know it."

"Ha. Those kids? They'd cower behind the couch if they saw her." He leans back in his chair and feels around for his empty coffee mug, refilling it with the carafe he'd borrowed (stolen) from the pot. "Natasha might eat her."

"Cannibalism. That's new for Natasha."

The sigh is involuntary. "Stark and Rogers upped her therapy. She was caught with a knife."

"Intent to injure herself or others?"

"Herself. Kid's angry, but I think she's too scared to try anything against them. Or Bruce and Thor." Oh, sweet blissful caffeine; Phil downs the mug and starts to fill it again.

"And that's enough of that for you. Or do you really want to spend another weekend in the hospital?"

"It was one time!"

"Once was enough," Fury growls. "Even if Natasha does manage to injure herself, you and I both know we're not going to move them. Those kids are safer in that house with those men than if they were at the Hub. And I know you've got your kids case files memorized, so court and the lawyers will be a fucking cakewalk for you. Home visits... I've handled Skye and Peter before and Hill was Grant's social worker before you were asked to take him on. That leaves Natasha and Clint. When's that visit scheduled?"

Phil knows where this is going.

"Friday night."

"And look at that, there's six days before then. Go home, Phil. Get some sleep and eat actual food. Men cannot live by vending machine alone."

"Snickers and black coffee," Phil shoots back.

"Peanut butter crackers and diet coke," Fury says, giving him a look, "I mean it, Coulson. Run. Before that phone rings and I have to start kicking asses."

He hesitates and Nick fixes him with a damn good glare, his one eye cutting into Phil from across the room. "All right, boss... checking out."

So, of course, that would be when the phone rings.


	3. Chapter 3

Following that disastrous dinner, things are both better and worse in the Stark-Rogers household: Natasha is still very silent and very angry, but Simmons tells them she _is_ talking in therapy, and while Clint is still incredibly easy to make fearful, he actually seems to enjoy some of the time he spends with Bruce and Thor, playing games on bedroom floors.

Tony and Pepper work out a plan with the engineers and other members of RD for Tony to work from home, so there's never a time where the kids are left to themselves, and Steve decides that following fall semester, he'll take a short leave of absence and files the paperwork with the administration. Tony argues about it, but there isn't much he can say that Steve doesn't have a good retort for.

(To be fair, money has never been their issue, only the need to keep themselves busy with work. So when Tony argues that, all he gets is a look and a very sarcastic remark.

Bruce snickers. Oh, family meeting time.)

Pepper makes an appearance that Wednesday and while Natasha doesn't seem to have any connection with her, on Thursday, Clint asks if she'll be coming over again and every single one of them knows the source of the question.

"Maybe Friday after school, if you guys promise to do a little homework before dinner, we'll have a movie marathon and Aunt Pepper will join us," Tony finally caves, knowing how much Steve had wanted to have their own movie night after the kids went to bed. The look Steve throws him though is warm and accepting and Tony doesn't regret it.

"Awesome," Clint whispers, smiling a little, and Bruce tells him, "And movie marathon night? We get to pick what movies we watch and Dad and Pop don't nitpick them."

The little boy's eyes light up like a Christmas tree.

Tony would be lying if he said he wasn't looking forward to the school day ending on Friday. Hell, he'd be lying if he denied that once a movie marathon was brought up, Tony got giddy at the idea that maybe, just maybe, they had made a tiny fraction of headway in getting Natasha and Clint to trust them. Or trust that the boys wouldn't hurt them. Something.

Whatever it was, after three weeks of their presence in the house, Tony knows that Clint's reaction to family time and Natasha's want to see Pepper again are huge, and he wants to celebrate...

"Did you buy the entire menu?"

...by ordering one of just about everything on the Green Dragon's menu...

"Are those cronuts?"

...and bribing the hell out of a couple of people to get fresh made cronuts from Dominique Ansel.

Steve rubs his forehead, and then sighs and laughs: this is is husband, his maddening yet complete mushball of a man who will do just about anything to see their kids smile. Evidently, tonight's method to get them includes a feast of food they'll be eating for days—and giving to the kids to share with their friends on top of that—and stupidly expensive pastry.

"I've got the gluten free ones for Bruce defrosting."

"You're ridiculous," Steve says fondly, leaning in for a soft, short kiss that Tony makes longer. Pulled in by his hips, Steve wishes they had more time before the kids get home; the bus should be here any second, not to mention Pepper, but then she was quite used to walking in and finding the two of them like this.

There's a click then, the noise of the front door being pushed against by two rowdy teenage boys while, no doubt, Natasha and Clint watch in confusion. Tony pulls back enough to murmur, "Later. Or I swear I will be the first man on the planet to die of blue balls," and is busy sorting containers by the time Bruce and Thor burst through the door and race up the stairs to their rooms.

Clint follows behind, looking a little dazed, with Natasha making a face as if she is using this as definitive evidence that boys are stupid.

"You guys have a good day at school?"

"It was okay."

Which Tony knows isn't true: Clint's teacher had e-mailed that his English homework hadn't been turned in two weeks in a row and that she'd spoken with him about it, which had left the kid sitting silent through the rest of the class. (P.S. every inch of Tony wants to slaughter the woman for daring to speak to his kid without him, because seriously, the last thing Clint needs is being made to feel that he's done something wrong. Tony just hopes that the movies and food help.)

"Good. So... go get cleaned up, do a little homework, and once Aunt Pepper gets here, we'll rock-paper-scissors for first movie."

The two of them nod and take off for their room, though with decidedly less gusto than the elder boys.

"Normal version or that one that neither I nor Pepper can figure out?"

"Rock Paper Scissors Lizard Spock is a valid form of the game!"

"Not when the only people who understand the rules are you and Bruce and the rest of us are sitting there trying to figure out how we just got laundry duty."

Tony rolls his eyes and pops a dumpling in his mouth.

(The kids get through a half an hour of homework, just barely enough, but Steve's been looking forward to this himself, though not to Tony's level of enthusiasm, and Pepper had gotten there earlier than expected; they'll probably spend most of the day tomorrow juggling in homework with Thor's football practice, Bruce's yoga class, and Natasha's first dance class since coming to them.

Still, when they cram onto the couch, chairs, and floor, it's comfortable and right and Steve doesn't feel the urge to argue that they should all finish one more assignment before they start. And they'll worry about Clint and his English Comprehension later, after he's relaxed and let go of some of the tension.)

They're halfway through Tony's choice—Spaceballs—when the doorbell rings, which makes Steve say, "Thor, go tell your friends you're home tonight, but you can hang out with them after practice," from his place on the couch with Tony leaning against him.

"No problem, Pop," Thor tosses back, setting his plate down on the coffee table.

But it's not Tyler or Jake on the other side of the door nor is it Bruce's friends: it's Phil Coulson, and he smiles at Thor for a moment before saying, "Could you get your parents for me?"

"Loki?"

"Thor, I need to talk to them first."

The teen is reluctant to go, but he does with a frown and shortly thereafter, he is replaced by two very worried men; Tony shoves Steve out onto the porch and shuts the door behind him, and he waits until Pepper's closed the windows in the living room before he asks, "Is it Loki?"

Phil nods. "It's not good," he looks from Tony to Steve and back, "I got a call from his social worker in Greenland. She stated that they had finished their investigation into Laufey and determined that Loki needed to be removed. Since Laufey was here with his lawyer and they could avoid a possible altercation, they decided to move. When they entered the home, they found him in his room with an extremely high fever, underweight, and with distinct injuries. He's been diagnosed with pneumonia, which, with the weight loss... it's going to be some time before he's healthy enough to travel."

"Jesus."

"No one there has stepped in to claim him. The only biological family he's got at this point are a few teenage brothers who are not fit to care for themselves right now, let alone him, and Frigga has said that she'd go there to handle his care, but because she's still married to Mr. Borrson, we can't allow it," Phil continues, "I have already put in paperwork to start arranging for his travel back to the US once he can, but I can't do anything about custody until you speak with your lawyers."

Steve rubs at the worry lines on his forehead, then asks, "They wouldn't happen to have sent pictures, would they?"

Phil reaches into pockets for the papers he'd grabbed on his way out of his office, having anticipated the question; he unfolds the packet with careful hands before handing them over to Steve, knowing that by the end of the night, Thor will have seen them as well.

"His throat," Tony murmurs.

The bruises on Loki's neck, they're low and would be hidden by a sweatshirt or jacket collar, but they're still discernible as finger shaped, as the marks of someone who'd nearly been strangled.

"It's probably going to be some time before he can get on a plane. After that... Loki's journal was found and logged for evidence and it is not unlikely that we'll need to put him through testing before we can allow him into the home due to some of his writings."

"The kid's been through hell. I'd be surprised if he didn't need testing," Tony answers, "Doesn't change how much we want him."

"I realize that, Tony, but I need you to understand that even if he's in the country, it might be some time before we hand him over to you." He swallows. "And then there's Natasha and Clint that have to be factored into this equation."

"Meaning?"

"You have been great with Bruce and Thor and while I know Clint is not nearly as difficult to manage as his sister, I need you to think about whether or not you want to be dealing with three kids with increased need for therapy, three kids who might try to run away at any moment, three kids who need pretty consistent supervision for their own safety."

Steve doesn't feel reluctance as he speaks, doesn't hesitate, just says, "Yes."

"Tony?"

"Of course."

"I swear," Phil mutters after a while, "you two are either completely insane or braver than any superhero."

(They talk at length with Thor. They tell him everything, let him read the report, but withhold the picture until the middle of the night when he knocks on their bedroom door and asks to see it.

"You're sure?"

"No, but I need to see it."

"Thor, you don't have to do this."

"I haven't seen him in two years. Please, Pop."

He holds it in one shaking hand and lets out a sob, before swallowing down the tears and wandering out of the room.

They don't follow, not when they hear Thor knock on the bedroom door across from theirs, the slide of the door on the carpet, then a whispered, "Bruce, can I sleep with you tonight?"

"Call Fitz in the morning," Steve tells Tony, but he can see the light of cell phone and knows the text is already sent.)

* * *

The next few weeks are not easy.

First, Thor's aggression on the field is ramped up, as if the matches are now a battle and he's fighting for his life, and it earns him so many penalties during one particular game for personal fouls that the coach benches him at halftime. He's argumentative and his room is trashed, something Bruce tries to help with and no one stops him from doing; by Christmas break, Steve has him put back on medication for anxiety and depression.

"I don't want to take it," he tells Steve on the first day of vacation, laying in his bed while he tosses a football over his head.

"I know, but do you honestly feel like you're acting like yourself? Thor," he sits down on the edge of his son's bed, "please. Take them. Just for two weeks, okay?"

"Takes two weeks to work," Thor mutters, the memory of Tony explaining everything about the drugs playing in his head.

Steve nods. "And if you don't feel like they're helping by then, we'll talk to Fitz and May."

Thor holds out a hand and accepts the pill, dry swallowing it.

"I'll let Dad know about our deal. Please, even if you're not too hungry later, I'd like you to try to eat something," Steve tells him as he stands back up, squeezing Thor's knee in the process. There's no obvious response, so he moves toward the hall, about to reiterate their rule of leaving the door open during the day and coming to find one of them if he feels at all like he wants to hurt himself or someone else.

He glances back and Thor's eyes are on him.

"Don't give up on him. When he gets here, promise me you won't give up on him."

"Did I ever give up on you? Even when you fought us? Kicked us? Punched us? Bit us _and_ your brother?"

"No."

"Have I—or Dad—ever given up on Natasha or Clint?"

"No."

"Then you already know the answer to that."

"Yeah, I do."

"We need to go over the rules?"

Thor gives a little smile. "No. Bruce already did."

Second, there's Natasha who, Tony has discovered, is hiding the pills in her mouth and then spitting them into tissues, garbage cans, out windows, the toilet. No one is sure how long she's been doing it for and with the non-compliance, they've been told she is a candidate for hospitalization.

So while Steve handles their eldest child, Tony has managed, somehow, to get Natasha to sit on the couch with he on the coffee table and the pill vial beside him; Clint is with Bruce, working at the kitchen table on spelling, grammar, and cursive handwriting, and if they were any further apart, Tony is sure she'd be freaking out already.

"Okay, kiddo. Do you feel like talking a little today?" he asks, already knowing the answer, and when she shakes her head, Tony nods, "That's all right. But I'm going to ask you some questions, then, and I need you to be honest."

As time has passed, Natasha's anger has simmered down some. It's not gone by any stretch, and she's still refusing to actually speak to either Tony or Steve, but this is an improvement and as Tony's always done before, he thinks of each little milestone as a great big step. After all, these are children and those little milestones _are_ big steps for them. And it doesn't hurt that he rewards them for every one of those steps with movies, favorite candies, and toys.

"I know you have a reason for not taking them, sweetheart," Tony leans his elbows onto his knees, and asks, "So we're gonna work on you telling me why, okay? First, you don't like them?"

She shakes her head.

"Is there someone at school or maybe here at home who is making fun of you because of them?"

Another no.

"Good, because there's no shame in needing help and don't forget it or Pop will be happy to give you the lecture." Tony catches the hint of a smirk on her lips, fleeting, and commits it to memory. "Are you afraid someone is going to find out about it?"

No.

"Is it the medicine itself?"

A nod, finally.

"Okay. Do you have trouble swallowing the pill?"

No.

"Is it the way it makes you feel?"

Yes.

This is where it'd be really helpful if she'd just speak, yet Tony knows that's just not going to happen. He thinks over his next question, settling on, "Do they make you feel more anxious?"

No.

Another pause and another thought. Then, "Do they make you feel more depressed?"

A curious look, as if Natasha is trying to figure out if that's it, and Tony hopes, because that's something he can work with, but after a minute passes, she tells him no.

He's not really sure what to ask now, because if the meds aren't increasing her anxiety or depression, then what else could they be making her feel... sleepy, maybe?

"Foggy."

The word is spoken softly in a voice that isn't hoarse from disuse or warm from frequent talks. It's hard though, and pained, and Tony tries to keep the surprise off his face that they have finally reached this point.

"They make you feel foggy. Like you're up in the clouds foggy or like you're stuck in molasses foggy?"

"Molasses."

Tony wants so much to hug her, restraining himself as best he can. "Did you ever tell someone that the make you feel that way?"

"Yes."

He breathes out, digests this for a moment. "So first, sweetheart, obviously, we're not going to make you take these pills. They're going in the trash. Second, when you told that person, was it after you came here?"

A nod.

"I know you didn't trust us all that much when you came," he doesn't say that he knows she still doesn't quite trust them now, "but if I or Pop ever ask you to take a medicine and it makes you feel funny or sick or hurts you, tell us or one of your brothers or call Phil or Aunt Pepper. If you wanted, you could even throw the pill at us. Something, okay?" and he waits for her to nod again before saying, "Go sit with Clint and write me a list of how these pills made you feel."

She makes a face at the idea of doing that last thing, but Natasha will do her best.

By the time she's slipped in the kitchen, Steve's coming down the stairs and he collapses onto the couch with a groan of pleasure. He yanks Tony onto the cushions with him and they both close their eyes as they lean their heads against each other, Steve asking, "She okay?"

"They make her feel foggy. I'll talk to May and get her to prescribe something else. Thor?"

"Agreed to two weeks on them and then we'll revisit the topic. And at some point, reiterate to him that we're not exactly the guys who give up on people."

Tony snorts at that, thinking about Loki's first stay with them and how they'd continued fighting for him long after he'd been pulled from their home. Yeah, they're so not people who just give up. Tony's got an arc reactor in the basement and a new element on the periodic table to prove that, just as Steve's missing leg and PTSD prove that he doesn't either.

Still, he makes a mental note to talk to Thor later and reassure his son that Loki will be well cared for.

"Nap time yet?" Steve asks, eyes still closed.

As if on cue, there's a crash in the kitchen followed by Bruce yelling, "We're fine!"

"Forget a nap, I think we need short-term comas," Tony answers and together, they go to investigate what their kids have gotten into now.


	4. Chapter 4

Their house is a holiday battlefield: Steve is Catholic, Tony Jewish, Bruce is a Buddhist, and Thor... well, he doesn't exactly broadcast it, but he's a Pagan; Natasha prefers Russian Orthodoxy, and Clint has spent so much of his life just trying to stay alive that he follows the others to masses when they go and doesn't really have a particular faith.

This is why Thanksgiving this year involved latkes, Hanukkah having started that day, and a little before Christmas, they gather around the fireplace to watch the log Pepper had gifted Thor with as it burns, smelling of sweet cider and evergreen.

As the flames die down and the other children disappear to their rooms, Thor, curled up on the couch, his head on one of the back cushions and so close to Steve's shoulder, says, "Thanks for this," and then, "I know your priest doesn't like it."

Steve pulls him in with an arm over his shoulders, glad that Thor's allowing the comfort at the moment and not trying to push it off like he normally would. "What you believe is for you to choose. I can't pick it for you. And it's between you and your maker."

"But you wish we were Catholic."

"Once, yes, I would have liked that, but I made peace with the fact that you and your brother are older now, you made your choices, and they're good choices. They make you happy, they make you stronger, and you made them on your own. You didn't make them just to make Dad and I happy or because you thought you should." Steve leans his head against his son's, and presses a brief kiss to Thor's hair. "I'm so proud of you."

"Don't say that."

"Why not?"

Thor shrugs.

"Why shouldn't I be proud of you? You've managed to get and keep a 3.0 GPA, while doing football and gymnastics. You have been there for your brother, and Natasha and Clint, and you've got a good head on those shoulders."

"But I don't know if I want to go to college yet," he blurts out.

"Okay," Steve says, knowing already the source of this change of heart—not that long ago, Thor was trying to decide between Notre Dame and Ohio State—but he can't get upset. It won't help matters to get upset. "Let's talk about it."

"I don't want to."

"When?"

"Pop..."

He sits up a little, reluctant to break contact with Thor, but he does it, and looks at his son. "Either now or you give me a day and we'll do it then, but we have to talk about this."

"Why? It's my decision whether or not I go. You and Dad said it was my choice."

"And it _is_ your choice. We're not going to just throw you in a dorm and leave you there. But, Thor, this is a complete reversal from what you were talking about at the beginning of school, not to mention what you've told the scouts. So I need to know where this is coming from, okay?" Steve tells him and taps Tony on the chest, careful of the scar. "Hey, Dad, wake up."

Tony just swats his hand away, and Thor, rolling his eyes, says, "Dad, wake up! I think I broke..."

He doesn't get to finish before Tony's sitting straight up, blinking through the sleepiness. "What happened?"

Steve knows he shouldn't, but he laughs. "And I'm the worrier?"

"Dad does too, you're just really obvious about it," Thor tells him, cracking a smile.

Tony just asks, "Nothing's broken?"

"No. We're all fine."

"So... you guys need me awake for something? Otherwise, I'm going back to a very nice dream I was having about Christian Bale."

Steve sighs, and Thor just laughs. "Pop wants a parent discussion, I guess."

They end up spend the night talking, and Steve's right to guess that Loki is the reason Thor's decided he wants to take a year off between high school and college, but they both learn that it had always been Thor's intention to take a year off from college when Loki came if that's where he was at the time. He'd always wanted to be there when Loki arrived to help take some of the burden off his parents and Bruce, and now that they have a more solid time frame of when that might happen, he's kind of glad it's before college and not during.

Plus, he reasons, he'll be home to help with Natasha and Clint too, and Tony can't argue it. He wants to, but he can't: Loki has always shown a propensity for soothing under Thor's care just as much as he'd antagonized his big brother. Yes, there are going to be things Thor can't do with or for Loki, and Steve and Tony know that, but he's a strong kid and he's smart, despite the learning disabilities that have plagued him since childhood.

They settle on a compromise, with Thor agreeing to take at least one class from Steve's University a semester and re-evaluating in a year if he's ready to go full-time.

And speaking of re-evaluating...

"Meds," Steve says as both his husband and son yawn, "You feel any better, pal?"

"I don't feel like I want to go for a run every five seconds and my skin doesn't feel so tight, but I don't know... maybe?"

"That's better," Tony tells him, and yawns yet again. "I am definitely sleeping in late tomorrow. No one wake me up. Unless it's the apocalypse. I've got a few things to say to a few people in that case."

Thor laughs.

"Go on, kiddo. It's late and we've got a lot to do tomorrow." Tony adds, "Check on your sister and your brother for me, please. And tell Bruce that he's going to break the world record for amount of Wii Yoga one person has done in a stretch."

Another laugh, and he goes. For a few minutes there's blissful silence but for the dying embers of the log in the fireplace and Tony is nearly back to sleep in the recliner, when Thor comes back and whispers, "You have to see this, come on," and leads them up the stairs with soft steps.

Honestly, Steve didn't think Thor knew how to walk this quietly.

Together, they walk the hall and Steve feels a moment of unease when he sees that Natasha and Clint's room is empty, then sheer, total contentment as he peeks into Bruce's room and finds Natasha asleep in his bed, Clint beside her, while Bruce snores in his recliner.

Steve lingers in the doorway while Tony closes up downstairs and can barely stand to leave when his husband comes back and pulls him to bed. He only just glimpses Thor as he drags his comforter and his favorite throw, his pillow, into Bruce's room.

He's tempted to run for his camera.

Instead, he slides into bed and says into the dark, "I guess we're doing okay," as Tony falls asleep beside him.

"Helps that we've got amazing kids," Tony whispers back.

* * *

Natasha wakes first the next morning, disoriented at first when she sees Bruce in a recliner across from her instead of Clint's bed. It takes more than a few seconds for her brain to come online and point out that the door's open, the only one in the huge bed with her is Clint, and she's safely bound up in her pajamas.

Someone chokes on a snore, Thor by the look of it, and she wonders if she should wake up Clint and sneak them out... but the bed is warm and comfortable and they've got days more off from school so she doesn't _have_ to be up, and she lets her head fall back to the pillow.

It's silent just a little longer, just the muffled noises of her brothers as they shift around to be heard, then she hears Tony and Steve's door open and the light tread of bare feet on the carpet. Tony peeks in at them half a second later, smiles, and moves toward the stairs, and the process is repeated a few minutes later with Steve.

Soon, the scent of fresh cooked bacon fills the house, forcing her into an internal debate on whether or not food is a good enough reason to get up.

Three months ago, this wouldn't have even been worth the spare thought: food was always a reason to get up, though it always carried the danger of food being a bribe for something else. But they've never been denied the necessities—food, water, clothing, warm blankets and plump pillows—and though it makes Natasha's mind scream that she's getting complacent, she know, kind of, that she'll be fed whenever she chooses to appear in the kitchen.

"Dad's cooking," Bruce murmurs, glancing at her from across the room though he's still curled up as he was when he was asleep.

She gives him a questioning look.

He lifts an eyebrow in response, challenging her to say that she hadn't noticed the pattern before, and she shrugs: Tony always cooks the bacon first, his way of announcing to the house that there's breakfast to be had and a lure to get them downstairs on their own. Steve usually saves it for last, mainly to keep Thor from eating every last strip he can get his greedy hands on. It's one of the first things she'd picked up on.

Bruce yawns then, and scratches at his hair, then asks, "Want breakfast in bed?"

Without thinking she asks, "We can do that?"

If it surprises Bruce to hear her speak, he doesn't show it, just answers, "Yep. Just can't leave the dishes in here after we're done."

Thor stretches on the floor and winces as he cracks his back. "Bacon?"

The laugh is soft and indulgent; Bruce nods as he smirks, "I'll bring you bacon, don't worry," and then looks back at his sister and asks, "You want to come with me? I know you don't like touching food you haven't seen made."

Okay, that might make Natasha twitch.

"Hey, we get it. Ask Thor about his and Loki's food issues sometime." Bruce can't remember for sure, but he thinks it was a good year before Thor had let anyone else in the house cook for him or share food with him; Loki was with them for so short a time, they'd never had the chance to get him used to food cooked by the hands of another and he'd spent the entire time in the house eating whatever he scavenged from the cupboards and fridge.

Natasha swallows around the lump in her throat—if Bruce and Thor know about it, then Steve and Tony have to know too. "Are they mad?"

"Over the food thing? No. They're just happy that you're willing to take something from them at all. I think they were concerned you and Clint would be eating sandwiches forever," she's told, Bruce swatting Thor's legs out of the way so he can close the recliner before standing and stretching, his spine popping in several places. "Come on, sis."

She doesn't know why, but hearing Bruce call her sis sets something warm in her belly; she gives him a little smile and follows him to the kitchen, stumbling a bit on the stairs when Bruce stops suddenly. He throws a hand to the side and her heart hammers in her chest, her mind screaming that she shouldn't have trusted him, and then Bruce whispers, "Pop's having a flashback," and Natasha has to tell herself to calm the fuck down.

"What?"

And Bruce moves just enough that she can peer around him to see that Tony is standing between Steve and the still-hot pans, telling him he's safe, he's home, he's not in Iraq, just breathe, listen to his voice; Steve is standing there, a hand on the back of his head and he's pulling on the hair at the nape, eyes training on Tony though she doesn't think Steve is actually seeing him.

"Don't move, okay?" Bruce whispers, guiding her down to sit on the step as he does himself and they watch through the gaps in the balustrade spindles.

It feels like it's hours before Steve hitches a breath and gets out a strangled, "Tony," before he's yanked into his husband's grasp. A softly muttered, "Sorry," can be heard, then another and Tony is shushing him.

"Hey, none of that," Tony tells him, stroking over the abused skin at his hairline, "Just breathe, all right? I can't carry you if you pass out."

"So tired of this."

"I know."

"The kids still upstairs?"

Tony glances back toward the stairs and nods at Bruce and Natasha, a signal to go back up to the room—he'll come get them once he's dealt with Steve. They go, Bruce grabbing her hand and pulling her back before sticking a shoe next to the doorjamb and closing the door itself; Pop'll need some privacy for the rest of the day, will probably even shower a few times because he always says he feels sandy and sweaty and not right after a flashback, and the kids have learned that means that sometimes, even if they just want to hold on to him, they need to let him get his bearings.

"He's okay?" Natasha asks after she hears the two men cross by their room and entire the master bedroom, the door snapping closed behind them. It's the first time she's heard the heavy limp Steve always gets in the aftermath, like his brain has forgotten that yes, he has a prosthesis and has had it for years, that he doesn't still have that mangled, twisted mess of flesh and bone that he'd walked on to get help from the following convoy.

"He doesn't talk about what he saw over there," Bruce answers, "not with us at least—he's got his own therapist—but day like today, he'll probably just spend the day sleeping and watching movies on his iPad. Dad'll make sure he eats and takes his meds."

The knot in her chest loosens a bit; it's been there since the day Phil had told her that she and Clint were being transferred to a new home, and it has eased a little with every passing day, but this development... it's a sudden realization for her, a sharp pinch to the gut, that there is something fallible about the men she lives with: they have weaknesses.

They're human.

The visions in her head, a nightmare of tall blond monsters invading their room at night and laughing men with brown eyes locking them away with no food to eat, seem less real, less possible. Still, she doesn't trust them, not the way she's started to trust these two older kids who call her sis and let her sleep in their rooms and protect her from bullies at school.

"Who wants breakfast?" Tony asks a few minutes later, his head stuck through the doorway; he looks exhausted already.

"Poptarts?" Thor just wants something that won't take too much effort nor keep his fathers apart for too long—they're big boys now, they can take care of the younger kids while their parents take care of each other.

Tony makes a face and replies, "I made bacon. You really think I won't make the eggs and toast to go with it? You guys are getting at least one meal today that doesn't include microwave directions, because otherwise we're going to have Mr. Migraine setting the house on fire in an attempt to boil water. Let's go, my minions."


	5. Chapter 5

Christmas comes, bringing with it the usual flurry of torn wrapping paper and mess of gifts sorted into piles in the living room. Music pours from the speakers of the television, a mix of classic and contemporary; someone's pulled out boxes of cookies and they sit open on the end tables by the couch.

The two eldest are awash in books, clothing, and video games. There's a new yoga mat for Bruce, a new football for Thor, and they sit on the couch as they sort through it all, their horde divided between the coffee table and the floor beside it.

The two youngest sit by the tree as if afraid it will disappear on them if they move out of reach of the scratchy pine needles. They sit there, both enthralled and at a loss as they look between the various toys they've received; they alternate between opening and closing the game cases to ensure the discs are still there and assembling various action figures and poseable dolls. Clint watches carefully as Steve puts the child-sized bow together, coveting the promise of archery lessons come January.

"This is really mine?" Clint asks after he's handed the completed bow, clutching it in one hand.

"Yes, sir, all yours," Tony tells him.

"Even if we go?"

"Well, that's something we need to talk about because we want to keep you both, but yes, Clint, even if you had to go for whatever reason, that's yours."

The music is their only noise, but this time the silence, unlike previous ones, isn't lost to awkwardness or sadness or any sort of despondency. Thor and Bruce are smiling softly at them, and Tony isn't stockstill, waiting to see who is going to run. Instead he sits on the arm of the chair that Steve has settled in, the latter leaning forward onto his knees with loose limbs.

"You want to keep us?" Natasha asks, voice barely audible though they all hear the disbelief.

"Yes."

They've been there three months, she cannot bring herself to think that they'd honestly want to keep them after so short a time.

Clint asks, "Why?"

And they're both told, "Because," nothing more at that moment than a simple word, then the room explodes with other words as their brothers throw out every reason they can think of to show how perfectly they fit into the family.

Tony and Steve wait until their sons have said their fill, to explain, "We knew three days in that we were adopting you guys, we just needed time to ensure that you both knew this was your last stop, and we got that confirmation the other night. So as long as you guys want to stay, we'll call the lawyer tomorrow and get the paperwork started."

Clint looks up at his sister, smiling but waiting to say yes until she does, but Natasha is rooted to the spot, completely still and unblinking.

"Tasha?"

The change is sudden and Steve is literally lunging to pull Clint out of the way while Tony grabs onto Natasha and pulls her to him, crossing his arms over hers and murmuring to her, "It's okay, Natasha. You're safe, kiddo. You're safe. No one's going to hurt you. Just breathe."

Still she struggles in the protective hug, wanting so badly to dive for the knife block in the kitchen, but held back by the sheer strength of the man holding her. It's enough to trigger a flashback, though it doesn't and Natasha feels in her bones a full, resonating terror.

"Dad," she hears, "I have an idea."

It feels like only seconds later that they're all on the couch—Thor and Bruce and Clint and Steve and Tony and herself—and she's being whispered to by every single one of them. The onslaught is confusingly comforting and after a while, she begins to settle, her wrists still wrapped in Tony's hands even after her breathing starts to even out.

Steve tells Thor and Bruce to take Clint upstairs until they're told to come back down as Tony shifts, Natasha refusing to look up; he sets her onto a vacated section of couch, releasing one wrist but keeping a good grip on the other: it's Christmas and the last thing Tony wants is for her to look back as an old lady, remembering her first holidays with them as a disaster.

This is a hiccup, he decides. Just a bump in the day.

Steve is on her other side, sunk low enough that both feet are on the coffee table and he says, "You with us, sweetheart?"

The answer is a shivered, "Yes," as one of the two men wrap a fleece throw over her shoulders. "I'm sorry."

"For what? Being scared? You don't have to apologize for that."

She shrugs, and blinks through a sudden wave of tears. Where they come from, Natasha doesn't know, but she feels kicked in the gut, lost, and impossibly happy at the same time. She clutches at her head with her free hand, yanking at her hair.

"Oh, sweetie," Tony whispers. He draws her arms back into his grasp and rubs his thumbs over the pale skin.

The tears fall and Natasha names the feeling in her gut: crossroad. Keep fighting, keep arguing, keep running, the memories eating her alive, or stop what she can and wait. They both hurt so much she can't think and they're too hard to choose between: hat if she chooses wrong and Clint is hurt? What if she chooses wrong and they're already adopted? What if? What if? What if?

What if?

She swallows thickly, wipes viciously at her eyes with her bound hands, and then draws in a breath.

 _What do I do?_ she thinks, _What do I do?_

Minutes pass, her heart thumping away and she closes her eyes in the end, sliding down the couch to settle her head on Steve's chest, her ear pressed to his chest.

(Tony lets her go, a tear tracking from eye to chin, and he sighs.

He texts Phil. He texts their lawyer. And he texts the boys to tell them to come back downstairs, where they pile around the couch and their sister and resume playing with their games like nothing had happened at all. Clint even goes along with them for a while, before deciding to get up onto the couch and squishing into the small space between Tony and Natasha.

Like someone had put up a mirror, Clint slumps down until his head is on Tony's chest and he lets himself drift off with one last question, "Wanna stay. Tasha, can we stay?"

She doesn't speak, just nods and that's apparently enough for the little boy. He's asleep seconds later.

"Guess breakfast is going to be delayed?" Bruce jokes in a murmur.

"Does this mean I can break into the poptarts?" Thor sets down his football.

Tony rolls his eyes, waving them toward the pantry, and Steve just stays exactly where he is, fingercombing her hair with one hand.)

* * *

It's not an overnight fix. They have issues to deal with, lessons they didn't deserve taught to them by people who should never have had these kids, and the promise of a steady home doesn't fix that. Hell, there's plenty that simply won't be fixed at all, but will become something that they will learn to deal with: like Steve and his flashbacks, they'll learn how to soothe the anxiety, how to tell their parents when they feel like hurting themselves, how to make new memories to replace the painful ones.

So it's no surprise for either Tony or Steve when a few days pass with Natasha silent as ever, eating only that which she makes for herself. They know she is still struggling with this new reality and they can only wait it out, make sure the house is stocked with bread, hazelnut butter, jelly, and fruit cups. They make sure there's fresh fruit and vegetables in the crisper drawers, a few lunchables meals in their sealed boxes, and microwaveable pizzas in the freezer.

They make sure her cell phone is charged and that Phil's number is still saved under the ICE contacts, takes her to see Simmons for an extra session, and by the time school resumes, Natasha appears to be a little steadier even if she's not back to where she was.

She seems to throw herself into dance, using the escape for what it is and Simmons supports it, tells Tony, "In some ways, she's reverting, letting herself go back and become a child again to experience everything she was denied. It's allowing her to let everything go and focus on one thing at a time."

"She loves Ballet. Think it'd be overload to add on another class?"

"Try tap."

They do: Natasha takes to the new class like a fish to water and as the next few weeks pass, she begins to thaw toward them all over again, and this time, it comes with an added calmness that had seemed impossible for her months ago. She slowly starts to take food that someone else has cooked at mealtimes, starts to linger at night when Clint and Bruce go to bed and it's just her and Thor with their parents... and Tony can see how she begins to believe that they aren't jerking her around when they talk to her.

She begins to see that of their promises to her, none have been broken.

A little voice murmurs to her that maybe it's okay to let them in, just a bit.

This is probably why, on the 18th of March, another ordinary day, Steve picks up his cell phone in the grocery store and it's the school on the other end. They tell him, "Natasha had a panic attack in her gym class. We contacted Mr. Stark and he is on his way to pick her up, but she's asked to speak with you."

And he tells them, "Yes, sure, of course," then he hears sniffling. "Tasha?"

"Papa."

His heart stops—she sounds so broken, so tired. "Sweetheart, you all right?" he asks as he drops the cart in the middle of an aisle, mouthing _sorry_ at a stockboy, and takes off toward the front doors.

"No."

"Okay, do you want me to stay on the phone until Dad gets there?" Steve's almost to the car, his hand shaking a bit as he gets out his keys: his kid is hurting and she needs him and he's thirty minutes in the opposite direction.

"I..." A swallow and the swish of clothing, probably the noise of her jacket sleeve swiping at her nose. "Can you come too?"

"I'm on my way."

There's just the sound of sniffles for a few minutes; Steve keeps up a litany of stupid chatter, telling her he's been looking forward to her spring dance recital and how he and Tony have talked a lot about taking all four kids on a beach vacation. He tells her about their plans to take each of the kids for dinners, just one of them at a time, at the end of finals.

He simply... tells her everything he can think of as he speeds toward the school, straining to hear for when Tony arrives, grateful when he hears his husband speak, "You talking to Pop, kiddo?"

"I don't want to go back. Please don't make me go back."

Neither one of them has to ask for her to explain. They know exactly where she doesn't want to go.

There's the sound of bones popping and settling and Steve figures Tony just knelt down near her. "Look at me, Natasha," Tony tells her, "No one is going to make you go back there. No one is coming to take you from us. You're our daughter, even if we still have to do paperwork and talk to a judge, we're family. Phil isn't coming to take you or Clint away. You're safe."

She is silent, but again, a rustle of cloth, and Steve waits to hear what she'll say next, his heart tight when she says, "I want to go home."

"Once Pop gets here, we'll take you home together, okay?"

The blood rushes in Steve's ears and he forces himself to focus as he pulls into the school's parking lot, then has to navigate actually walking from the car to the office; his cellphone is sweaty against his ear, and he's half-running as he pushes through the doors.

"Natasha," he breathes, dropping the phone finally. With one arm, he hugs her close, asking, "You okay, sweetheart?"

She doesn't speak.

From over her shoulder, Tony shakes his head at Steve and holds his hand out for the keys, then turns to the waiting secretary to give her instructions to pass along to their three boys. He returns his attention to them, seemingly unsurprised that Natasha has now latched her fingers into Steve's jacket and will not let go: he figures, if she doesn't detach, he'll have to carry her.

"Ready to go home?"

And no, she doesn't release him, but she shakes her head and it's permission enough to hoist her up.

(They ride home with Steve in the backseat, Natasha beside him. Tony continually looks into the rearview to check on them both, heaving a sigh of relief when their daughter eventually nods off with her head pillowed on Steve's arm.

"Did you call Simmons?"

"Yep."

"And?"

"And she said she had a feeling that this was coming and that Natasha needed to have a breakthrough," Tony replies in hushed tones, "Like a mental reboot."

"She wants to see Natasha today, then?"

"No. Tomorrow. She said that unless she becomes physically violent, she wants to let her play this out. She thinks it's best if Natasha gets to see that having an issue doesn't immediately result in talk therapy and that she can have a problem that we can help her with."

Steve lifts an eyebrow.

"Just... trust me. She's right. We can handle this—she's freaked out because she trusts us, and considering the last people she trusted?" He says, pulling into the garage, "She's scared. Let her be for a little bit. It's the only way she'll get past it, if she's scared and realizes it's unfounded.")

Natasha sleeps part of the afternoon away, laying safely on the living room couch with her blanket over her, an old threadbare teddy under one arm, and wakes just as her brothers wander in, the three of them talking like nothing is wrong and for them, nothing is: their sister's day was bad and they've all been there. Hell, Thor's anxiety is so epically bad at times that there'd been one day where he'd had four during one math block and Pop had shown up at school with enough Xanax to down a bull.

And though no one knows what preceded the panic attack, Bruce expects she'll let it out soon enough.

They head up to their rooms to drop their bags, Thor the first to return and hunt through the fridge and pantry for afternoon snacks. He drags out the hazelnut butter and a spoon, sealed packages of gluten free sugar cookies and oreos, and a bag of Doritos, and puts the bounty on the coffee table, where Bruce brings milk and four glasses.

Steve smiles a bit when he sees that: six glasses would have been an invitation for himself and Tony to join their kids, but four is a message.

This is their sister and they're going to be with her for however long she wants, they'll talk about whatever she wants, watch whatever she wants. No parents invited, but then, Steve's studio is just up the hall and Tony, though his dyslexia is the root for why he'd jumped straight onto engineering and design, can be seen in their little home library just off the living room.

Clint brushes by him as he moves to sit on the floor by the couch, digging into the Doritos. Steve chuckles at the big handfuls he takes and reminds them, "Save room for actual dinner, guys."

"Can we order out tonight?" Bruce asks in reply.

Steve thinks that over. I's been a while since they'd last had take away for dinner, but at the same time, he always hesitates to feed any of them junk food when they're having a bad day: he honestly sees a huge difference in all of them when they have and have not eaten food with food dyes and preservatives. Still, Natasha loves the salt and pepper squid dish from their usual asian place and he would like to see her eat something tonight, sure that she's not all that keen on any food at the moment.

"All right. We'll do Green Dragon. Thor, you're in charge of getting the order together and Bruce, you're placing it."

The boys beam at him, Natasha just looks tired.

After Steve crosses to the couch, he bends to press a kiss to her forehead, then whispers, "Dad's reading and I'll be in the studio, okay?"

"Okay."

"Tell me the rules."

She swallows. "No closed doors tonight, but I can sleep where I want. I can call Aunt Pepper or Phil until 9 if I need to talk to someone who isn't in the house. If I feel like I want to hurt myself, I have to say something to someone."

"Good. And it doesn't matter what we're doing, if you need us, you can interrupt Dad or I."

She nods at that, already aware, and then asks, "Do I have to go to school tomorrow?"

"We'll talk about that in the morning," his tone is one of finality and Natasha accepts that, settling back onto the couch cushions.

"I hear anyone yell anything about fire, police, or paramedics and Dad and I join the party," he throws over his shoulder as he walks down the hall, and Thor laughs, but if there's any actual response, it's lost in the opening of Muppets from Space.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next story in the series will be _monster_.


End file.
